Hail, young Prometheus, risen again to Time, The friend of man and foeman of man’s Foe! Climb the new heavens and seize the nobler fire. Still teach the wisdom of the plough and loom, The sweetness of the threshold and the hearth. Be to the sower of the field a sign To point the circuits of the frost, a voice To cry the coming of the hurricane. Be to the scholar, by his waning lamp, A bringer of the tidings of the stars, News of the forces and the frame of things. Be to the poet, leagued with Death and Eld, A Memnon whisper of the Mystery, Life’s lofty joy and immemorial grief. Be to the calm historian a glass Where, through the rush of phantoms, he can see The majesty and quietness of Truth, The craft of God, the lure and threat of Time. Hail, Titan, with the hair upon your breast! Be terrible in battle to throw down The stronghold of the traitors and their crew. Flash down the sky-born lightnings of the Pen; Let loose the cramped-up thunders of the Types. Hurl on the Jupiter of Greed enthroned Defiance, endless challenge, fire of scorn. Stand out upon the walls of darkness—stand A young god with a bugle at his lips To rouse the watchmen sleeping on their towers. Fling out the banner of the People’s Right— A flag in love with all the winds of heaven; Plunge your dread sword into the Spoiler’s den; Hurl down into the faces of the thieves The blaze of its intolerable light.... Fail not, for in your failure Freedom fails! A Bargain Scoffer, you cry, “Where is your ‘other world,’ Your fabled heaven in far eternities?” Well said, but first, before your lip is curled, Tell (’tis a little thing) where _this_ world is! “Inasmuch....” Wild tempest swirled on Moscow’s castled height; Wild sleet shot slanting down the wind of night; Quick snarling mouths from out the darkness sprang To strike you in the face with tooth and fang. Javelins of ice hung on the roofs of all; The very stones were aching in the wall, Where Ivan stood a watchman on his hour, Guarding the Kremlin by the northern tower, When, lo! a half-bare beggar tottered past, Shrunk up and stiffened in the bitter blast. A heap of misery he drifted by, And from the heap came out a broken cry.